An Unforeseen Arrival
by jlocked2212
Summary: Sherlock is hurt and close to 221B. What happens when he goes back to the flat? John's perspective of my other story An Unexpected Return Post-Reichenbach One-shot. Mild swearing. Both stories can stand alone.


**A/N: I decided to add John's view to this story. Same Story just from John's perspective! **

John's eyes snapped open. He heard shuffling downstairs on the steps coming up to the flat. He grabbed his gun and slipped silently down the stairs. He heard the intruder move into the kitchen and stop moving. John moves across the living space steps into the doorway of the kitchen.

"Don't move." He grumbled at the tall strangers. The voice he hears in the next moment nearly sends him to his knees.

"John, I am bleeding all over your clean floor you might want to let me move to the sink," Sherlock's voice hits him like a ton of bricks. It knocked the wind out of him and tilts his vision for a moment as the world realigns. The light switch flips on in the next second and for a moment he is blinded. As his vision clears, he see Sherlock is staring at him. He is just standing there like nothing has happened. He is looking at John curiously just like he always did as if he hadn't died three years ago. Like nothing has changed. Then John feels the anger boiling up within him. He tries to control his rage, but his fists clenched hard.

"My absence has been hard on you. You've…" Sherlock started to deduce him, but John couldn't contain his angry words.

"You bastard! How dare you? Don't even tell me how hard it's been on me. I should know. I was here." John shouted. He had lived through the pain and the loss. Pain greater than he had ever felt. It was worse than being shot or stabbed or kidnapped. The pain had ripped through him and left him broken again. Things had gotten easier, but he still felt the pain. Every day he felt the pain. Sherlock had been staring at him the whole time. He continued to stare while John tried to wrap his head around the fact his dead flatmate, the man he saw fall from a building and die, was standing in the kitchen.

"John. I know you are upset but please help me." The deep baritone voice pleads and John feels his chest tighten. He nods without thinking. Suddenly, he looks at the arm that has been dripping blood the entire time. He really looks at Sherlock and sees that he is favoring his other side as well. John assumes he has been in some kind of knife fight. He probably needs stitches and John wonders if he had gone into the fight by himself and why did he come back to the flat? Why tonight?

"Take off your coat…shirt too," he adds as he moves back up the stairs. When he reaches his room, he grabs his medical bag and turns to head back down to Sherlock. He pauses for a moment and wonders if this is a dream. Will Sherlock even be downstairs when I go back? He runs back down the stairs as he wonders about how this strange man lived even though he had no pulse the last time John saw him.

He steps into the kitchen. Sherlock is sitting looking at the bleeding gash on his arm. The open cuts on his torso are not as deep as the one on his arm so he starts with the worst wound. He opens his bag and cleans the slash. He stitches the skin back together without offering Sherlock anything to dull the pain. John is still angry and can't help being a bit spiteful. He feels around Sherlock's arm when his patient asks if it is broken.

"I don't think so but you get an x-ray." John suggests. He forces himself to speak to Sherlock but he keeps his sentences short because he doesn't trust his voice. Sherlock will be able to read too much if he continues to speak. John's chest tightens again when he sees the scars that litter Sherlock's body. He knows some of the scars are from burns and knives, but one is definitely a bullet wound and there are some marks he can't identify the cause of so easily. John works quickly to bandage Sherlock up.

He stands up and pulls away from Sherlock after the last bandage is in place. He moves over to the sink to wash his hands. With his back turned, John lets his face relax. The entire time he had worked on Sherlock he tried to keep his face blank so that his face gave nothing away. He is still angry but after looking at the wounds John is reminded of the good old days when he patched up Sherlock frequently. His body seems to grow heavy when he thinks of those happy times and how different things were now. So many things have happened since the last time he stitched up this body. He feels like he has gone to war again.

He can almost hear Sherlock thinking behind him as he washes his hands. Sherlock shifts uncomfortably a couple of times before he gathers the courage to say anything.

"I am sorry John. If I could convince you it was the only way to keep you safe, I would explain it to you but I don't think you would forgive me anyway." Sherlock apologized. His voice was shaky and uncertain. John was confused and tried to work out what Sherlock was saying. Why had he left? To keep John safe? Why?

John turned to face Sherlock while trying to figure out a solution to the questions that were now buzzing around his mind.

"Well then, I'll just being going now. Thank you John I may have bled out except for you." John hears the words and his world splinters around him again. He needs Sherlock to stay more than he needs to know why he left. Sherlock is almost out the door before John processes the other man's words and moves to stop him. John grabs Sherlock's hand. His mind races as he tries to think of something to say. Finally he pleads with Sherlock in the simplest of sentences.

"Don't leave me, not again." John begged. He heard Sherlock put the door closed again as John breathed a sigh of relief. He felt two arms close around him in a hug. It felt good to have him home.


End file.
